Aftershock
by Natalie River
Summary: The war is over. The ring has been destroyed. All is as it should be. The hobbits aren't the only ones with nightmares, Aragorn isn't the only one feeling pressure. Legolas suffers from flashbacks as he struggles with the call of the sea and the need to explore the world.
1. Chapter 1

The Prince of Mirkwood glanced up from his bow, his hands gracing the wood only momenterily before whisking the cloth over it. "It's hard to sneak up on an elf," he called out, though not in alarm. "Even for you, my Lord. I was almost afraid you would not arrive before I left."

Aragorn son of Arathorn chuckled softly to himself as he stepped from the shadows of the room. "I would not miss the chance to see an old friend. Even for a day. Yet the formalities," he murmured shaking his head. "There is no need for them, between two friends. Is there?"

For after all, he had been crowned King. Though the elves were leaving, Legolas of Mirkwood, was still a Prince among them. If they went by titles they would spend most of every day addressing one another correctly. While on their journey, he was Estel, Strider, Aragorn, and sometimes a silly little human playing soldier. Legolas son of Thranduil Prince of Mirkwood? He was simply Legolas, Greenleaf, and very rarely to Aragorn, that dratted creature from the Woodland realm who was affected neither by snow or rain.

But neither was Prince or King when they were together, they were friends. Neither was in their own Kingdom.

"Of course not, Estel," Legolas's hands ghosted the bow once again, aching with memories. "How is your Queen?"

Aragorn's mouth turned upward in a small sad smile. His voice was heavy. "She is well. Spending what time she has spare with her Father, Lord Eldrond intends to depart within the month."

Legolas nodded sharply, clad in green and brown he seemed ready to travel on. His teeth were gritted and now he picked up the cloth with one hand, violently scrubbing it against the fine bow. Angrily his hand darted up and down, yet Aragorn noticed that through anger there was something deeper.

"Frodo will be leaving too within the moon's cycle?" Legolas asked suddenly, without looking up.

Aragorn sat beside Legolas his hands closing around Legolas's and slowing his wild jerky actions. "Careful...you will harm her. A gift from Lady Galadriel, should not be treated so harshly... Frodo will be departing too, as will Bilbo."

"And Gandalf," added Legolas.

"And Gandalf," echoed Aragorn. "What of you, will you too go with Lord Elrond into the West?"

Tears pricked at Legolas's eyes. "No, I do not intend to. My time is here. I will leave when it is my time to leave, and I shall do so with no haste or tears."

"They set out for Lindon soon, they shall reach the Grey Havens and there they will set sail. Yet you think their departure is hasty? Your people Legolas, no one will think any less of you," Aragorn paused for a moment considering his words carefully. He did not wish to spark the calm elf's temper. "You are the one who is hasty, I thought you intended to leave, to set sail-"

Legolas stood within seconds, realing away as if burnt by the younger being's words. Scolded he shook his head, bow tingling in his hand. "It is not haste!" he hissed, the words already forming in his mind. "N'uma! There is no haste. Haste is not a word known to elves. The war is over, few battles remain. Those battles become less and less each day. Many elves will remain, those of us who never intend to set sail, and those of us who are not ready."

Aragorn shook his head, standing too now. Although the elf was slimmer than him and probably faster than him, he was still quicker than most men. "Legolas, my friend what do you intend to do instead?"

Legolas hrugged. "I will travel, through Fangorn Forest once more and the Glittering Caves of Helms Deep. But my heart no longer rests in the forest, my home. Aragorn, I want to sail. I want to go to the sea. But not yet. I am not ready. Yet the desire burns in my stomach, and through my lungs."

"You intend to travel," Aragorn nodded slowly. "That explains a little. You are restless, you are dressed to travel. Yet heavily armed for a time of peace."

Legolas's head snapped up as he tightened his hand around the bow once more. "My bow is important to me, archery is a skill of elves."

"As is your singing musical charm, your beauty and your lying," Aragorn quipped. He became serious. "You're lying. Legolas I may be getting older, yet I am barely an elderly man. I am neither blind nor a fool. Your white knife, hides pressed tight against your thigh. Two new daggers are tucked into one boot, anyone can see the handle of the second. Your quiver is full. More than you took into battle, not by some standards excessive. But certainly strange for peace time. For you."

Legolas turned away, setting down his bow gently. He glanced through the window that overlooked a courtyard, two young elven children played. There weren't many young elves anymore. Not children. There were elves a couple of hundred years old, and those more than a thousand. The children looked to be only thirty or fourty.

"You are young Estel, yet life has hardly been kind to you. There are those sailing now, who fought in the war, yet have not done what you have. You are young, yet your age is showing," he did not glance back. Instead he stared out over the courtyard, past the children, past the trees. Towards the sun. "Your skin is wearing. Your hair will begin to grey. You will like all mortals die. And your Queen will die with you."

Aragorn chuckled and joined Legolas by the window. "You talk darkly. Nothing ever truly dies, nothing ends. For from every star that dies, a new life is born. Life will never end," he sighed. "But Arwen and I will enter eternal sleep. Legolas, you speak like a scared child, not an elven Prince. What is wrong?"

Legolas did not answer. He only shook his head.

"Affairs of the heart?" Aragorn questioned. He watched the elf's lips move without emmitting a single sound, he watched as the elf closed his eyes, shutting them tightly then dragging them open once more with great effort. Aragorn realised that it was barely spoken of, yet many elves had romances with humans. In the new age, it was not frowned upon, but it was hardly encouraged. Romances that were barely flings of the heart strings. After all, the elves as a whole were sailing for the West.

Legolas shook his head as if able to read his partner's thoughts. "No Estel, do not worry. I am not torn in that way. My hear belongs to no human. Many ships will sail, but Lord Elrond's departure is somewhat of a symbol. After he leaves, the age of elves will end. But no Aragorn, my heart belongs to no human."

Aragorn felt suddenly cold. The children were being huried inside by an anxious elven woman. It began to rain and he saw the children protest and the woman looked sorrowful. Then they were gone. "Faramir asks after you, he is a good man. As was his brother. What shall I tell him when we return to Gondor?"

Legolas met his eyes for the first time. Cold dead ice met warm fresh earth. "Tell him I am well," he spoke not softly as he had done on their previous adventures together but coldly and calculated.

It scared Aragorn slightly to see his companion in such a state. On their journey to what he at one point thought their deaths, Legolas remained cheerful. With his songs that often infuriated everyone. Yet kept everyone's spirits alive. Through the snow he scouted ahead, bringing back hope. As they struggled onwards he told them an end was within sight. Unphased by the whispers of mortal fear.

Fury overwhelmed Legolas, anger burned through his immortal veins. He had to be alert as the man that stood before him transformed from mortal to monster. Lunging forwards as he drew his dagger he lashed out, yelling out in rage and fear.

"Legolas!" cried Aragorn as he darted back before the blade cut into his flesh. "Legolas what is wrong with you?"

Legolas held still for a moment, fiery eyes never leaving the beast. It spoke with Aragorn's voice, yet it was probably a wizard. Trying to cast a spell on him. He searched for movement, an attack to block. With still narrowed eyes he drew his longer knife in his left hand, wielding the blade with monstorous force.

Aragorn searched Legolas's face for any kind of recognition. "Legolas?" he asked. Dancing backwards he blocked again, not wanting to draw his sword. It was the only weapon he kept with him, having left the others with the elven guards. He did not want to draw his sword for fear he would have to use it.

Legolas was armed, dangerous and in the heat of the battle. Death surrounded him. Not just mortal. Elves lay slain around his feet, their bodies already gathering flies. The hobbits were taken, two kidnapped, two on their way to their deaths attempting to destroy a ring more powerful than any else. Gandalf, oh good Gandalf was gone presumed dead. Killed in the mines Legolas had known they shouldnot have entered.

Boromir was dead. Already their party had been decreased by so much. The forest called to him, yet so did the sea. Blood and ghosts.

Ululating and screaching and clawing at his heart with their cold fingers. He woke, seeing the dead before him, his fallen comrades. Eons in despair. Reliving the ghastly torment. Terror. Pain. War.

Each one a soldier of their King, of their Country. Riders of Rohan. Men of Gondor. The very few elves that remained. The dwarves in the East. All soldiers, barely men. Barely children. Too weak and old to bare arms. Fighting.

Trembling. Sobbing. Facade.

Legolas wept, sobs coming in desperate coughs.

"It's over Legolas," murmured Aragorn. "It's over. The war is ended. Frodo lives..." he bit his bottom lip. Not for the first time, did he think that perhaps it would be wiser for Legolas to board Lord Elrond's ship. For even he knew that Valinor would provide him with peace of mind.

Legolas suddenly realised he was on his knees, dry heaving on the cold stone floor. His knife and dagger lay discarded beside him, gripping his wrists, kneeling before him, was Aragorn son of Arathorn. Shakily Legolas released himself from the grip and stood, legs quaking beneath him. "I...I am sorry Estel. I do not know what came over me."

Yet he knew that was a lie. Dreams had been coming to him while he did not sleep for a while now, since the end of the war. It made him feel so incredibly weak. For he knew he was the only one. Every living creature had suffered. Frodo woke from dreadful nightmares each day. But he, Legolas of Mirkwood was not a halfling. He was not a ring bearer. He was not Estel.

Just Legolas. Prince of Mirkwood.

Weak.

"When do you intend to leave Legolas?"

It was only then that he realised Aragorn had been talking, guiding him back to his seat. Brushing at one sleeve Legolas stammered as he found his voice. "We leave tonight. We shall say our farewells first."

"Are you sure?" demanded Aragorn. "You will be well? Who is we?"

"Myself, and Gimli."

Aragorn nodded in understanding. "When will you return?"

Shrugging Legolas wiped his brow. "That I can not tell you. I am sorry, I do not know why I acted so. Forgive me."

Aragorn stood. "Rember Legolas, no one lives forever. But you must live until you die. Do not fall into the endless sleep or sail for the West without coming to me to say good bye. Do not forget me Legolas."

Legolas almost smiled. "I could not do that. Gimli and I will find the sun. When we have found it, we will bring it to you," he sighed sadly. "Forgive me Aragorn, I failed."

"No," Aragorn promised. "You never did that. Now rest, and do not leave without saying farewell. For you will have my wife to answer to, and her wrath is far more venomous than my own."

Legolas laughed. "I should not dare!" he joked. "She would hunt me down and we know, that women, do not fight fairly. Gimli will have returned from the halls now. You know where you can find him."

Aragorn nodded. "Drinking," he laughed. Opening the door he glanced back. "Legolas, should you wish to speak to me, do so. Whenever you need to contact me, you will be able to. Gondor will always welcome you and Gimli."

"I know that," assured Legolas. "Thank you. Now I shall rest."

He stood, picking up his dagger and knife, placing his bow tidily on the chair, he slotted the other weapons back into place and lay down upon the low couch. It still unnerved Aragorn, that elves slept with their eyes open. Even though he had been raised with them he was glad that Arwen did not. Even so, it would not have changed her beauty. Some days, in the early morning, he lay and watched her sleep. Being able to see the beautiful eyes would have made no difference.

"Sleep well, Legolas."

Aragorn shut the door. An uneasy sense of doom hung over his head, for although they joked, it was a serious matter. Legolas had seemed possessed. He had fought like a creature from beyond death, his eyes had filled with fear and pain and anger. He'd babbled about Gandalf and the hobbits, his father, Boromir, and so many others.

Legolas did not reply, yet Aragorn knew he did not sleep. He decided to find Gimli, then return to Arwen. He would find Lord Elrond and Gandalf that evening.

He worried about Legolas, but he had to remember that he was an adult. Vulnerable maybe. But still an adult.

He hoped that Legolas would choose to speak to him, not to the clouds that he usually shared his secrets with. But he didn't know if Legolas would have a choice this time.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. I'm intending for this to be cannonish. Please review! Diolch am darllen, gobeithiwn eich fod wedi mwynhau. Dwi'n bwriadu i hwn fod yn gannonish. Wel...dyna'r bwriad!**

**Natalie River**

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

It took Gimli and Legolas but one day to reach the edge of Mirkwood. It would have taken them less, but they travelled slowly. Not so slow that it was tedious, but slow enough to be comfortable.

Gimli still didn't like the horse, but he understood that there had to be comprimises. Even if it was to an elf.

Now Arod slept, ears drooping, eyes closed softly, swaying where he stood. Gimli too was fatigued, but he did not sleep, instead he sat, leaning against a tree, eyes half closed.

"You have your own great halls Legolas, but we're sleeping on solid ground," he looked up from his bowl as he shovelled another spoonful of slop into his mouth. Chewing as he continued he chuckled to himself.

Legolas turned his head onto one side as he finished his own mouthful. He picked at the slop, turning it around with his spoon. "Something is wrong Master Dwarf?" he asked patiently. "It is a good night," he murmured to himself more than anything else. "We are free Gimli. Do you understand that?"

Gimli nodded slowly. It was all Legolas kept speaking of. The freedom. Freedom from the cuffs of war. But the cold shackles of sacrifice still bound their feet. He hadn't been happy about leading the horse into a forest but this was the home of the elf, and Arod was content enough. But even he, a Dwarf, knew the forest was different to others.

Because in normal forests, there was music. Even in the murkiest depths of Fangorn, the trees had been singing. Gimli didn't hear it well. But he still heard it. And in Mirkwood, the singing had stopped. He'd been waiting and listening and waiting. And it was quiet. Too quiet.

It scared Gimli. It was like walking into Moria, and knowing everything was dead. But what scared Gimli even more, was that Legolas had not mentioned the silence yet. It was worse than the silence of the lambs, the sound before the battle. It scared him.

But the forest was not dead. The trees were growing. Things still crept about in the darkness. The firewood they'd collected was burning nicely. Animals scurried about. Legolas had warned him of the spiders, descended from Shelob herself.

Legolas grimaced as he stood, and took Gimli's bowl from his protesting hands. He scraped the contents of his own bowl into it. "I am not hungry," he informed his friend.

Concern grew in Gimli but he grunted his thanks. "What's on your mind Legolas?"

"Nothing much Gimli," promised Legolas. "Nothing much. We will go to Fangorn and we will go to the Caves and we will travel to the end of the earth and back. When the trees burnt, the trees grew back. Not the same trees, but they did. Many cities were torn down, many civilisations destroyed. But they will grow back, new ones. Better ones. Taller trees, stronger trees."

He lapsed into silence. Gimli did not dare disturb it.

Later as darkness swept forth and they'd spoken of adventures they would have and old stories people had almost forgotten Gimli lay silent. He decided the elf had to be sleeping, but he still wasn't quite sure because of the fact that the Elves slept with their eyes open (apart from Lady Arwen but that was different).

They'd spoken of many things. Lady Eowyn was expecting her and Farimir's first child and could already feel its kick. On their last day in Rivendel a traveller who'd come from Rohan had saught them out to tell them that a Meriadoc Brandybuck was engaged to an Estella Bolger and had happened to be in the great city of Edoras when the man had been passing through.

Gimli felt the cold creeping in and tucked the blanket around himself. Arod had grown a little impatient when Gimli had awoken him accidentally. The creature had given him a look of utter disgust then turned away. Gimli was starting to feel that the horse was more than a horse because when he'd called it a stupid animal which resulted in being told off by Legolas he'd swear on his axe that the thing had smirked at him.

Now Arod slept. Gimli turned over. The traveller had been a nice bloke, proud to meet such a hero. They called them all heroes. After all, they were the fellowship. Everyone knew who Lord Aragorn was. King Aragorn. Everyone remembered the lightfooted elf, Legolas of Mirkwood. Borimir had fallen, which made him memorable. Gandalf was a wizard. That in alone was a feat. Merry and Pippin, the two tallest hobbits to ever walk in the Shire. The two ring bearers, halflings, Frodo and of course Sam. And Gimli, Dwarf, and hero. All heroes supposedly.

But Gimli decided that heroes were all well and good but when the sun set there weren't really heroes. Only good people. But those were deep thoughts and the only things that Gimli liked to be deep were his caves, mines and food bowls.

It was then that he heard crying. Little soft whimpering noises.

Pricking his ears he pushed himself upwards to a sitting position. Arod's ears were pricked too. Yet Legolas lay still. Surely, he, with his gifted sense of hearing would have heard an animal wounded. Especially in the silence.

Legolas's shoulders moved. As he shivered and shook.

It was then, that Gimli realised, the whimpering and the sobbing came from the bundle of blankets and tangle of limbs that was Legolas.

Strangulated cries. Cries that snaked under doors and cracks and slithered there way up into his body. Legolas heard them.

He never scramed. Legolas of Mirkwood did not scream.

Thrashing though, certainly. He thrashed around. Gasping from breath, struggling for breath. But he never screamed. When he awoke he would shake. Shuddering as he moved, like an elderly man, with brittle bones.

So much blood. Bodies. Everywhere. Falling. Dying. Burning. The trees were screaming. The orcs, their souls were screaming. Begging. Beautiful creatures orcs. Once upon a time anyway. Children were screaming.

Legolas did not scream.

But they did. And it hurt. It hurt bad.

They led Arod slowly through the forest. Though Legolas claimed not to want to dwindle he did not want to rush through his homeland either. He walked, Arod and Gimli followed.

They spoke of tales, tales of mines and caves and beautiful lakes. He sang of birds and trees and peace. They shared adventures past and old, retold legends of great heroes. But it was nearing midday when Legolas called for Gimli to stop.

They were in a large clearing that looked as if it had once been a place where animals, humans and elves had come together in harmony. Now it was empty of all three and watched only by the trees, trees that did not move for they had slept so long and lived so long without doing so they had quite forgotten how.

Gimli almost walked into the elf.

"Can you feel the difference here Gimli?" he asked softly.

Arod wasn't comfortable, he pawed at the soft ground twice, whinning and tugging from Legolas's grasp slightly.

"It's...quiet?" offered the dwarf. Shivering his fingers slipped slowly to the handle of his axe, fear crept over him. It was the same silence that had struck him before, the same silence that had writhed in Moria.

"This is where we used to have parties, such parties Gimli," he laughed. "That stopped when _it _started happening again. When _he _became powerful again," he lasped into silence. "This is where we caught the thirteen dwarves. Father never did understand how they escaped. When he found out he laughed!"

No one escaped from elven prisons, because elves did not lock away their enemies. Elves vanquished their enemies. Those they locked up were usually too dangerous or dreadful or simply annoying. But someone else had escaped once. Something else...

"My Father told me of that time, the hobbit, young Frodo's uncle and all, he let them out of their cells at night and they floated down the river in apple barrells! Apple barrells I say!" stroking his beard Gimli chuckled. "He couldn't look an apple pie in the face after that!"

Legolas did not hear him. _We used to take him out to walk, to feel the air on his skin. It was cruel to keep a creature in a cage for so long. We let him climb the trees. We pitied him. _Estel, Aragorn, he brought the creature to Mirkwood. All they had to do was guard it. Keep it in irons day and night in a dark cell with but candles for light. But they didn't do that, even to their worst enemies. Not for such a long amount of time. That was a punishment worse than death.

Now he knew that for Gollum, the slave of misery, death would have been a release. It would have been kinder that Aragorn kill him. But as Frodo had told anyone who'd listen, without neither him nor Sam would have reached Mordor. Yet had the beast not escaped their grasp-

"Legolas?"

Gollum had liked the air, the warm of the sun and the trees. It had brought him from the darkness. All those secrets he couldn't share. The last night in the cell he'd barely screamed or cried at all. They'd been geting somewhere. Besides he almost always refused to return and come down from a tree, but he always did in the end.

Then the orcs came.

_"I'm sorry Father! Please Father...please...We tried!"_

They'd all tried. They'd fought them well, they'd slain many. But there had been too many. It was no coincidence that the attack of the orcs came on the same night as Gollum's escape. His Father had sent the other elves to the healers or to return to their chambers. But he'd glared at his son with such pain and anger that he shook.

Gimli placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do not start so Elf, you frighten the horse."

Arod pulled free from the grasp of the elf, who's fingers ghosted the space he had once occupied.

_"Father look at me!" screeching, begging, screaming. Eyes wild. "Father! Father look at me! Do not turn away from me again. Father we failed. We failed what we were asked to do. But we showed mercy. We did all we could have done. We failed. But we were merciful! The creature was in pain! The creature is not whole anymore Father, its actions are no longer its own. We showed it mercy and Father if that means nothing then-"_

Then, the King of the Mirkwood Elves had turned, and for the first time in his long life his eyes and skin and hair reflected his age.

_"Father, do not cry." _

"Hush," whispered Gimli.

Retching Gimli knew not too comfort him yet. That morning when they'd awoken he'd seen his friend shaking and retching, huddled in his blankets he'd tried to comfort him. Legolas had struck out and almost broken his jaw. Gimli did something that took forcing but he left Legolas on the ground and comforted Arod instead. At least that way, he was doing something.

Finally when the horse was calm and the elf subsided into sobs, Gimli approached. He knelt down, taking the elf in his arms. He'd seen things like this before they all had. Men and women. Shaking, vomiting, screaming, sobbing, seeing things, begging, sweating. Especially after a battle. He'd seen it in Frodo, after the greatest war. He'd seen the pain in Sam too.

He'd seen it in Strider and Gandalf and even himself. In humans and dwarves and halflings. But never in an elf. Never in _him. _

Hefting the tall slim creature into his arms he stroked the blonde hair away from his face, revealing open eyes swollen almost shut. There he lay for what seemed like years, cradling the elf like a child.

Had anyone come across the clearing they would be faced by a strange sight. A dwarf and an elf clinging on to one another as if letting go would result in them falling off the edge of the earth. Their weapons lay discarded and their horse watched uncomfortably. Anyone watching would have known what bond prevented either being from being able to let go.

They would have called it love. But not the kind that first comes to mind.

Had anyone come a little closer they would have heard the dwarf telling the elf of how Gandalf the then Grey had impersonated three trolls in order to help thirteen dwarves and a burahobbit escape from becoming their dinner. They were both laughing.

The trees laughed too. Some even moved.

Brynmor son of Bard, Mayor of Laketown expected nothing but bad news when their came a knock on the door of his office. The town had grown since the days of the dragon but during the War of the Ring, a war that still raged in some places, they'd lost over half of their population. Entire families had been wiped out and entire generations of men. Fathers, Brothers, Husbands, Sons.

What made it worse, was they were like every other civilisation.

They'd sent their men to war and hardly any had returned. But those who had were proud.

When the door was pushed open he hurriedly stood, almost banging his left arm that was in a sling on the desk and removing his hat hurriedly with a gasp. "Prince Legolas forgive me, I did not know...but I thought all the elves had gone to the West? To what do we owe this honour?"

He suppressed another gasp as a dwarf followed the elf into the room with a curt but polite nod. _Gimli son of Gloin_ he whispered to himself. If two of them were in his office would the halflings be waiting outside? He dared not risk a glance out of the window for fear that King Aragorn would wave at him through it.

"Not all," Legolas explained. "Laketown has suffered too. We saw your injured. We did not know that orcs had attacked the town itself."

Brynmor nodded unsure whether to sit or not. The elf had not aged a day since he had first met the young Prince when he himself was a child, almost thirty years ago. But he'd heard the stories since. Everyone had. They were the stuff of legends. "They had to, to get to Mirkwood."

"It is Mirkwood that I come to you about," Legolas explained sadly. He studied the man for a second then a smile broke his face. "Were you the human, who when surrounded by a group of orcs, having lost your weapon, bit one's nose off and used it to dispose of the others?"

Brynmor was a redfaced man but he still managed to blush as he nodded.

"Good man," Gimli commented. He was busy squinting at a large framed painting of a woman with a pointy nose.

"Brynmor, Laketown has always been good to us, and most of the elves have left this earth now. It is the time of men. The dwarves are disappearing into their holes underground and not coming back. We are leaving. One day it will be only men left. I give you Mirkwood."

Brynmor's eyes widened as he raised a hand to his mouth in disbelief. "You can not-"

"You will not harm the trees, you will not harm the creatures that hide in them, but the halls are of no use to elves who do not walk in them. They are yours now. Use them well...please, let your children run in the safety of the forest, let them play, let them climb the trees. We have always liked the people of Laketown. Men will come to own Mirkwood one day, and I wish that you be those men."

Brynmor nodded, still breathless. "Where-where do you intend to go now?"

Legolas shrugged. "We will travel. Here and there. To the mines of the dwarves and the forests that move. But our first intention is to return on the route we came, to the home of old Beorn."

Brynmor sighed deeply. "I am sorry Prince Legolas...but Beorn he is dead."

Neither Legolas or the trees wept. There were too many dead already and they were done mourning. When the first child touched their branches they began to sing to one another with glee. Then they made a promise to a single elf, that they would never let anything harm the innocents that entered their midst.


	3. Chapter 3

"I understand that your love for the mountains and mines and things that are made of rock is similar to the elven love of all that is good and beautiful," Legolas said slowly. "But how does a mountain arouse you?"

"I did not use the word 'arouse' elf, stop putting your foul comments into my mouth!"

They walked slowly through the fields of corn and long grass, Arod trotting happily and easily without the weight of the dwarf. Of course he did not recognise the dwarf as a dwarf, he at first hadn't trusted him. He'd met an elf once and he knew humans. But the short one was neither a human nor an elf or even a small human like thing that both the elf and the short one associated with. Arod had been wary and rightly so for the short one swore at him and cursed him frequently, but slowly he became found of him and decided that equality should be shared no matter species or height.

But the short one was still really heavy.

They'd changed their planned route. But that didn't matter. Instead of passing through friendly kingdoms of those they knew they headed North at a sharp angle. Towards the Iron Hills. The temptation had been far too much for Gimli to cope with. When Legolas had told him to choose their next destination, when he'd told him that there would be time to visit the first born child of Eowyn and Farimir, there would be time to return to Aragorn and Arwen, to see the halflings, there would be time for all that in the future.

But where now Gimli? Where now?

I would like...to go home.

He did not know what reception they would receive, when he returned with an elf. More than four years since he'd left to go to the council of Elrond. Before it all truly began. Before he joined a fellowship that was predicted to fail before it even began. Even when the ring had been destroyed, he hadn't gone home. There had still been battles to fight. Even now, there were still battles being fought.

He should like to go home, if home was of course, still there.

"The mountain provided refuge for the people of Dale when the invaders came," protested Gimli.

Legolas chuckled. "I did not disagree that the mountain is beautiful and useful and a place of safety. I simply do not think that all dwarves are aroused by them!"

Increase in the hearbeat, fluttering of butterflies with sword edge wings in the stomach, dilating of pupils. Of course Legolas only jested, he knew it was the thought of returning home that changed Gimli's behaviour. Nothing could dampen his spirits not even the rain clouds that brewed like an angry cauldron in the sky.

They'd come to an agreement. They would reach the mountain by walking around the lake and take the route that was usually used by horses through the Misty Mountains. Then on their return they would go East to Moria. After that they might go further South to explore Fangorn and pass through Rohan. But who knew.

"Should you be attracted to other males I would not find it odd," Legolas explained. "But mountains? Elves certainly do not feel such lustful attraction to trees."

Gimli huffed and puffed, cheeks turning beetroot red. "I am not attracted in such a way to mountains!"

Legolas's eyes twinkled. "A few of the Riders are inclined towards other males, many elves are, I expect even a few of the halflings are, but really, mountains?"

The axe embedded itself in the ground. The banter grew louder and crueller as they began the trek as the air grew colder and the ground higher. Though both Gimli and Legolas were scowling and laughing and scowling some more and the insults became more and more outrageous Gimli couldn't help but rejoice inside.

Legolas was happier than he'd seen him in months.

Gimli had to grin. It was as if the elf had never seen a tree before. For he scampered towards them arms outstretche, face towards the sky. Large snowflakes spiraled lazily towards the ground.

"Gimli! They sing!"

Gimli sighed. "Yes elf, that they do. That they do. And we like to appreciate them and their winter coats from our halls, which will be warm and dry and filled with food. So if you may we'll continue onwards? Not far now."

Actually he was a little worried the further they walked along the carved path. Legolas carefully trodded though there was no need to. Even if the ice of the river which had become the path broke, it would not break under his weight.

Gimli had reassured him that the river froze for more than three quarters of the year. It was frozen solid and would be for several more months. Arod did not like the ice either. But Gimli was sure that was mainly because Legolas didn't.

Gimli was worried, for no one had come to meet them yet. The lookouts should have spotted them by now. Even at that distance they should have been spotted and it wasn't as if they were trying to be stealthy. But the mountain sang and so did the trees, not all could be bad.

Stories carried in the wind, whispers and legends alike. Even if they did not know who approached they surely should have known someone approached. A brother and a stranger. That should mean at least a guard or two. Yet no one had met them yet.

They finally approached the great halls and Gimli continued to point out things he remembered. Places he played as a child. They reached the doors and only there did two guards step forward, axes raised. Then they nodded relaxing and stepping back.

"Gimli, we've been expecting you and the...your companion," said the taller. He spat the world as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth.

Gimli beckoned that Legolas dismount and help him do so too for they'd rode Arod the last hundred metres. With trepidation Legolas allowed the other dwarf to lead Arod away promising to take good care of him.

"Stay close," murmured Gimli. "There are a few who are still set in their ways who will hardly look kindly upon your presence."

Legolas nodded his agreement. Sculptures of ice and precious stones adorned the dwarven halls, even the construction, the pure architecture was magnificent.

"This is not the same," whispered Gimli. "It has been rebuilt...damage during the war probably?"

Legolas nodded again. Burning architecture and broken bodies were among the many effects of the war. The war no one wished to speak of yet that still reached out its long manicured talons like death to catch an unwitting victim. Many spoke of plans for the future, rebuilding and refounding and the ongoing war though. That was at least something.

"It is best perhaps we go to the throne room first, announce ourselves, then seek food and shelter," Gimli told him.

Robed attendants opened the doors to a great throne room and seated upon a just as magnificent throne was a dwarf bearly half Gimli's age. Not D

áin Iornfoot but a dwarf who looked as alike him as...a son.

Four years...explanation? Dead. No mourning banners, meaning a while back or during battle. The dwarf didn't have his Father's axe meaning battle. Buried with his axe.

"_That's Thorin," _he hissed. His lips barely moved but he knew that Legolas would hear. Thorin just like his grandfather. "I am Gimli son of

Glóin at your service," he said loudly as he bowed low to the young king.

Legolas bowed too. "Legolas..." he remembered custom. "Son of Thrandruil."

They were brought chairs to be seated upon and soon the throne room filled with dwarves of all sizes, some sitting on chairs others kneeling on cushions, chilren sitting on laps. Then the story telling began.

Thorin welcomed them as heroes, fierce warriors, encouraging them to spin a tale or two for those who had gathered. Legolas marvalled in fascination at how casually these people sat in their king's throne room. Some chewed roasted chestnuts rather loudly and as Gimli was recounting how the fellowship was formed Thorin called for a stop.

It looked as if he might explode with anger but instead he thrust his hand out and told them to share.

Then laughed again and yelled for beer to be brought forth and given to all those who wanted it, bar the youngest of children meaning those without a beard. Which would have included Legolas. Several female dwarves (who Legolas decided were female due to the painted lips and beaded beards) volunteered to find out whether he was an innocent or not but were told to behave followed by a chorus of whoops.

Gimli told him it was always like this and not to worry.

Of all drinks, beer, he could endure ale, liked wine, but beer? Gimli downed his. Legolas sipped. Several dwarves who were certainly female (fine figures with chestplates shaped specially and high heeled boots matching the colour of their beards offered to show him how to enjoy beer which caused him to redden even more.

"We've heard of your skill in battle Master Elf, and how you fought alongside Gimli son of

Glóin," called Thorin. "Tell us more!"

Both Legolas and Gimli launched into an exagaratted version of Helm's Deep. Pipes were lit and passed around, smoke filled the room. Legolas politely declined to a few mutters of distaste as Gimli eagerly accepted inhaling greedily. They launched into tale after tale of adventure after adventure. They could both cope with this. They'd recounted the tales so many times since Aragorn's coronation it came naturally.

Legolas spoke in great detail of the mines of Moria and their journey through, paying all due respect to the dwarven kind causing nods and mutters of agreements from all around the room. They left out some bits. When they spoke of Gandalf's first sacrifice tears came to the eyes of many, a lump formed in Gimli's throat. They danced over Borimir's death, not speaking of the slaughter they'd seen.

They spoke of the siege at Minas Tirith. Then Legolas dutifully recounted Elvish tales of the West which were listened to in fascination.

Finally when songs had been sung and the beer had been drunk a merry crowd retreated off to the dining halls to feast. But a sturdy hand clasped around Legolas's wrist.

"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, if you are not too hungry, would you care to walk with me before eating?"

Legolas turned to see the dwarven king standing behind him. "I would be honoured, your m-"

"Please, call me Thorin."

"And I Legolas," he said with a small smile. "Of course."

Gimli nodded but Thorin shook his head. "Enjoy yourself a little Gimli, there are many who wish to speak to you, and certain young lady who wants a few strong words with you," he winked like a fellow conspiritor. "I'd keep your axe with you if you know what I mean."

Feeling as if he'd been dismissed Gimli followed the moving mob towards the dining halls as another cheer rose up and someone began to sing about gold and beer.

When Legolas and Thorin emerged almost three hours later Gimli finally stopped thinking the King had decided to have the stupid elf locked in dungeons somewhere for rudeness or another such petty sin. But the two looked quite alright if not a little somber. Gimli saved some food for the stubborn creature had refused to break for a meal as they journeyed from Laketown and only agreed to walk while Gimli ate.

Thorin called Gimli aside. "He is troubled," he warned.

Gimli supressed the urge to snap back. Though formalities were kept low there were still more boundries than should he be speaking to Aragorn or even Eomer. He didn't like it. He wanted to be hunting orcs, to have reason and missions again. To be with Aragorn and Legolas and to run and to ride and to be. He didn't like the new king. _Too young. _Not exactly his fault.

"I know."

Thorin nodded. "He is a good friend. Good companion. Good strong spirit."

"How often?"

"Too often," Legolas replied.

Gimli nodded. His heart ached. He'd gone looking for Lucy, a young dwarf. He thought perhaps it was she who'd been wanting to speak to him but it had been Mona a girl he'd known for barely a month before the war. He'd asked around but discovered that she was amongst the many dead. He and her Father sobbed into their tankards together before another song started about mountains and dragons and gold.

Dead. So many. All dead.

"We'll survive elf, understand?" he raised a bushy eyebrow. "Struggle all you like but I am not letting you go. Never did never will."

"And I you Gimli," Legolas clutched the dwarf's shirt. Chainmail discarded on the floor as they lay together on a soft matress. The first bed they'd slept on in days. Strange feeling. Almost uncomfortable.

Later on had any servant or guard looked into the shared room they would have found the bed unoccupied. Instead curled up together on the floor were two figures. The slim elf curled protectively around the dwarf's body, both undressed, both intimately close. Fingers entwined in each other's hair, chests touching, noses inches apart.

Breath mingling and interwining and forming something magical and new and magnificent.

When Legolas woke screaming Gimli was glad he'd given the guards warning. Under no circumstances were they to be disturbed. They were to be left alone. Dwarves with weapons would hardly help.

"I'm here," murmured Gimli. "I'm here."

"You won't leave?"

Gimli doubted he could without breaking several of Legolas's fingers. "Never."

Their bodies interlocked and sleep came at last again. Sweet reluctant sleep that washed over them in waves. Gimli dreamt of forests. Legolas dreamt of caves.

Their embrace lasted until morning, long after they'd awoken they lay in the comfort of the other's arms.

"I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, they came across a group of Gondor's men. They had been part of some scouting or rescue party and weren't hard to follow.

Legolas and Gimli had been in there pursuit for little over an hour, both had to admit they did enjoy tracking and hunting even if they weren't as skilled as their Kingly friend. It was sport though, easy sport as the men were a noisy bunch that left a clear trail behind them.

Legolas and Gimli waited for them to enter a valley for they couldn't take the higher paths across the ridges with their strangely assembled group of various animals; mules, horses and a cow, before they cut them off. They had women and children in their group too and made very slow progress. It looked as if the Gondorians had come across the others and were doing a round trip with the idea that they returned to civilisation.

Legolas would bet his quiver that there were at least two of Rohan's riders in their midst.

It was easier with one horse and a dwarf for Legolas to lead the way along the tight little paths to the other end of the valley.

It must have been a strange sight for the party, who had not come across any creatures from another species for weeks that didn't wish them harm, to see outlined by the sunset a dwarf and an elf waiting for them.

Legolas and Gimli made a sight for sore eyes as the weary travellers shielded theirs. None of the men were riding; they had given up their horses and pack animals so that the women could ride. But they knelt bowing their heads and yelled for their entourage to stop.

It was a strange thing to see an elf or a dwarf outside their own worlds, even more so now that the elves had almost all left and that the dwarves spent even more time underground. Even stranger was it to see an elf and a dwarf together. But stories spread and grow wings to become myth.

_Everyone knew about the dwarf and the elf who became friends. Everyone knew of the nine who set out to save Middle Earth. No one bowed their heads and murmured silent respect to every other soldier they came across, for when war consumes everything and everyone, everyone suffers. There was just a nod of acknowledgement and then possibly the offer of a drink. _

They helped the men set up their makeshift camp and discussed travel plans and kingdom plans and old stories and even the weather. They laughed and they joked and Legolas showed them which berries were good to eat and which weren't.

When it got too dark and cold and everyone had curled up to sleep Legolas sat apart watching the mountains yearn.

"These are all who remain of those who were captured by the barbarians," Gimli nodded quietly to the women and children. "I don't know who I pity more. The men who were tortured and killed or the women who were-"

Legolas closed his eyes. "Mihan said that their group isn't an ambush or an attacking party. They stumbled across the small settlement and heard the common tongue being spoken by captives. They had not decided what to do after their Lord died. There were twenty of them and they managed to rescue all of the living captives but five losing seven of their own."

"They should have send a few, followed the tribe if they moved on and-"

"It would have taken them days to reach anyone," hissed Legolas. "It was luck that Rohan's riders were anywhere near. Rohan will have word by tomorrow at the latest, Aragorn will know soon after. They will be safe now."

Gimli sat down heavily. "Bravery and stupidity are often the same thing."

"The first night we spent at your home Master Dwarf," Legolas began. "I wish to speak to you about it."

Gimli shook his head. "I don't think there is anything that requires speaking of."

Legolas stared at the floor before answering, when he looked up his eyes were dull and shadowed. "We are both battling feelings of belonging. We have visited your home where we were hailed and visited my home. We should find a place where we will both be useful."

Gimli chewed his lip. "You are considering returning to aid Aragorn in his kingdom? He...he will be very welcoming."

_But first we will adventure. We will see the brightest stars and the darkest stones of the darkest caves. _"Gimli I am scared," his voice fell even lower as a small child stirred in its mother's arms. "Gimli I am very scared," he tapped his forehead. "I hear certain sounds, smell certain scents, even the way the wind blows through my hair as we ride and...and it's happening again. Suddenly I am in the midst of battle, suddenly there are children screaming and running from Orc raiders. Suddenly..."

He fell silent. It was a peaceful but cold night, nothing could be heard but a few small animals scuttling, the deep breathing of the sleeping and the rocks settling.

Gimli met his friend's eyes. "Please-"

Legolas silenced him. "My heart pounds, my muscles tense. There is nothing I can do to stop them when these...these images return to me. I see Frodo, I see the Halflings being taken, I see the Halflings dying because I am not quick enough or fast enough. Borimir cries out to me. Aragorn falls. I see _him_ standing over Aragorn and I cannot be there...and you...and you..."

Gimli let his head rest against Legolas's shoulder. "Only dreams Legolas," he murmured. "They haunt the best of us."

Legolas snapped his head away shaking it. "No. Day and night. Always! Always the same Gimli! No. I refuse it. I won't accept it! I can't!" he felt anger shaking him. He pushed himself to his feet and began to walk away.

Gimli took a deep breath, resisted the urge to use rather colourful language and started to follow. "Legolas you're not well. Sit dow-"

"No! I am not a child," he snapped. "Gimli I am no child. Stay and watch over Arod," he commanded.

Then he disappeared into the mountain pass silently and as quickly as the disappearing sun. Gimli sat down quietly and searched for his pipe feeling hopeless and despairing. Part of him wondered why he hadn't tried to follow. The other part knew why he had not.

_Please...do not do anything hasty dear elf. _

It was before dawn when Gimli woke. He rolled over to find Legolas's blankets still empty. The elf had not returned. One of the women was feeding her child; she herself still had the strange paint that the savages had marked her with on her face.

Gimli quickly averted his eyes and sidled over to the Gondorians who were on guard. "Have you seen a tall blond elf in a foul temper? Probably looking for a wild beast to fight so that he can die in its jaws like a hero in a child's bedtime tale."

The men looked up from their game of dice throwing. Gimli was in no state to lecture them on how you were meant to guard a camp full of vulnerable. But the first point was that you didn't lounge around playing dice and not keeping your eyes open.

"He hasn't returned," the younger said rubbing his chin. "Old Tom said you two argued," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I call eight."

The older turned his head on one side. "I call seven."

Gimli looked up at them in distaste, for although they were seated on two upturned barrels they still were taller than him. "Should I not return by the time you move on take the-take our horse with you. If we do not meet you by the time you reach your destination take him to your King and tell him that we are dead."

The older's eyes narrowed. "Do you really believe-"

"If he refuses to go with you even if the Rohan can't persuade him then let him loose, he'll find his own way," Gimli cut across. Then slinging his axe over his shoulder he strode towards the valley opening.

Legolas stared across the small pool with glassy eyes.

The words had hit hard, like a hammer against his heart, breaking it, shattering it. The war was over. But nothing could ever undo years of it. He was a warrior, a hero, a saviour. Yet he wept like a child and had a mental state as stable as Eowyn's when he'd last met with her. _She'd been several months pregnant and had screamed at Farimir for not returning with the fruit she had demanded then sobbed when he did. _

Legolas knew that the mountains had secrets, every living thing did. But the pool he had found was not visible to the mortal eye, he knew that. It was sheltered by a cave and the tiny engravings on one of the stones gave the impression it was a place that had been used by Dunedain as shelter.

_Though what would draw them out here..._

The surface of the pool was as still as glass. The water was clear, too clear to be natural and every so often the light tricked patterns across it.

Gimli's presence was announced long before he actually arrived. There was the crunching of dry ground, the knocking over of rocks and stones, the swearing and the coughing and then-

"The stones are alive," Gimli said as he clambered through the small gap that separated one world from a similar.

Legolas smiled wearily. "All stones are alive to you. Just as the trees are."

"In Fangorn the trees moved, these stones...they move too," Gimli gestured around with one arm. "There were stories once. When I was a lad, about how dwarves, trolls and stone people all came from the same place. The mountains, deep deep underground. They say we hatched from one stone egg. The first dwarf, the first troll. The shell became the first stone person, unfolding itself into a creature in its own right."

"I'm sorry Gimli," Legolas lowered his gaze. "I was wrong to grow angry with you. I...I just felt so tired," he began to move his hands away from playing with the clasp of his cloak to gesture as if doing so would bring the words forth from his mouth. "I-"

Gimli chuckled. "You know the problem with you elves? You don't know when to be quiet."

"You know the problem with you dwarves?" Legolas asked. "You change your minds like a woman changes her gowns. You told me to talk to you and talk I am trying to do!"

"And talk is not what you are ready to do!" Gimli replied. "Not yet. Now eat," he pulled out a squashed piece of bread from a cloth bag and a chunk of stiff meat. He folded the bread over the meat and shoved it at the elf. "You're skin and bone. I may not have your sight but I know you have not eaten since we left the mountain."

They sat in semi silence and they talked about the most unimportant things imaginable to man and their bodies touched. Gimly spoke of the rebuilding plans in architectural detail; particularly Helms Deep and Legolas nodded and tried to follow vaguely. Legolas felt strangely numb, almost empty.

Gimli watched the shadows move as the first glimmers of the sun fought them away. Soon dawn would be upon them and the party would ready itself for departure. Gimli inhaled the sweet scent of earth and leaves that radiated naturally from the elf. "I feared...I feared that you would do something," he thought for a moment, "something daft."

"I considered it," Legolas admitted. "Throwing myself off some ravine. Wandering off like they did in those tales about ageless rangers who wandered so long they lost themselves. I considered-"

"Finding a bear and fighting it with your bare hands?" Gimli suggested.

Legolas nodded chewing a piece of bread. "It crossed my mind."

When he didn't continue Gimli gave him a small prod. "But you came to your senses and decided that a live annoying elf is better than a dead one?"

_I hope I will never be that...weak...strong...but if I see...if I hear them again...see what I could not do...the children that could not be saved...so many... "_I do not know."

Gimli knew there were many approaches he could take. One being to brain the elf and tell him that if he dared take his own life he'd viciously kill him. Another to remind him that nothing they had done was done in order for his life to end in such a way.

_Is going to the undying lands any different to dying? Didn't their souls go to the halls of Mandos and then...I do not want him to leave, to sail away from me. Be it the sea and dreams of the West that take him or the veil of death itself. _

"I wonder, if it would end should I take to the water," Legolas said quietly. "Death might not be a release. If dreams are not then surely death would not be. If...if I had sailed when I should have..."

Gimli pushed himself up and pressed his lips to the elf's forehead. He felt Legolas's fingers entwine in his beard. "Don't think such things."

Legolas pulled away and shook himself as if getting rid of dirt. "I-I do not know what to do Gimli."

Gimli threw his head back. "Neither do I. We will just do what we always did. Stumble our way on using half baked plans and following our hearts. You can make that decision when you must."

A thousand unasked questions raced through Legolas's mind. He didn't ask any of them, instead he did was his heart bade him do. Leant forward and embraced Gimli with long arms, avoiding the axe that got in the way slightly and pulling him near gruffly.

Gimli buried his head in Legolas's chest and raised his head to meet the elf's lips. Tentatively and gently they caressed one another, not daring to go a step further, not willing to compromise or cease. Slowly Legolas breathed into Gimli, feeling the dwarf's breath mix with his.

There was no explosion of light of fusing of magic deeper darker and older than the earth itself. Their spit mingled and became one, their tongues danced. It was over as soon as it had begun.

Legolas stood unfolding his long legs out beneath him as he tossed the remainder of the meat into the lake.

_An offering to the stone people. _

Gimli followed him, picking up a few bread crumbs and tossing them as his gift. They arrived back at the camp to find the men had already packed up and had been debating whether to wait slightly longer.

Having nothing to pack but a few blankets they made their way to Arod and were soon ready to depart.

The stone people had left their own offering. Beside the sulky looking horse were two necklaces, made of leather thongs, both with three stone beads strung on it.

As they walked slowly leading Arod they gave messages to various Gondorians and Horsemen to be given to various friends.

They intended to leave the group soon but still they stopped for a short break with them and Gimli found himself enjoying slightly the normality of it all. The children squealed and played and Rohan's Horsemen told them off for scaring the horses. A mule was too stubborn and didn't want to go anywhere and a young man of Gondor was trying and failing to charm one of the young women they'd rescued.

Legolas took a sip of water. "Did you mean what you said on our last night at your home?"

Gimli steeled himself. "I love you."

"I love you too."

No stars combusted. No gods fell to earth. There were no flames of wrath and hate or icy tongues drowning all sound and being.

There was simply an elf and a dwarf and a horse.

Legolas almost laughed. It sounded like the beggining of a very bad joke.

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, so grateful to all those who messaged be to tell me they didn't remember a John and a Sherlock being part of The Lord of the Rings. Glad to know you're all awake when you read my chapter updates! Keep reading and keep enjoying ~Natalie River x_


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